Tremolo
by WrathoftheElite
Summary: Recently widowed, single father, professional violinist Arthur Kirkland is waiting for his life to pick back up. Little did he know, that his new life would begin with his near death. Life reborn, his real adventure begins. Former UKfem!Us, eventual USUK


_Put an ocean and a river_

_Between everybody else,_

_Between everything, yourself, and home_

Arthur Kirkland's life was an absolute wreck. Widowed, a single father, and broke; all of these at the tender age of twenty-six. The man gazed thoughtfully upon the open ocean ahead of him, pondering about when it had taken a turn for the worse. Beforehand, the young man had lived a wonderful life. Married young, but happily. A young son to call their own. Ten fantastic students that were learning the art of the violin under him. When did it suddenly become so hard to leave the house? Was it because of her death, or the events that followed? He was never quite sure of the details. All he knew is that he lived a life of a broken man. Widowed, single father, and broke; all at the age of twenty-six.

Of course, there was always an element of pity at play from others in his broken state. Hell, at points he would even pity himself, and by God did he hate pity. All it brought were looks of sympathy that one would usually give a kicked puppy, words of condolences (while occasionally sweet) that would always sound forced and contrived, and perhaps the occasional fruit basket (which would usually sit on the kitchen counter gathering dust; Yao would always have to throw it out).

He never knew that it would come to this. As a young boy of Cambridge, Cambridgeshire, England, his prospects never left the small island across the Atlantic. However, as a slightly morose teenager, Arthur Kirkland figured he was meant for bigger and brighter things, better opportunities, and an overall improved life. And of course, the ideal location for heightened expectations followed by large disappointments has to be the United States. Arthur packed his bags (a suitcase of clothes, office supplies, and, of course, his violin), and at eighteen set his course towards Florida. Which was where he sat now; widowed, a single father, and broke.

A few feet ahead of him, his son Peter sat building a sand castle. He had Arthur's face; from his hair color, to his nose, to his somewhat outrageous eyebrows. But his piercing blue eyes…those belonged to his mother. The first thing that he, or anyone else for that matter, noticed about the boy. "He has his mother's eyes!" they would shout. "Oh woe is dear Arthur Kirkland, forced to always gaze upon the eyes of the dead!" …Emily always said he had a flair for the dramatic.

Emily said many things about him, in fact. That he was a loving man, willing to do whatever he could for the people he cared about. A slightly awkward gentleman (for what can one really expect from a native of Cambridge), but comfortable among friends. A dedicated musician, more likely to be found in a practice room than anywhere else (including sleeping; this worried her deeply), unless of course he was lugged (a common occurrence). And most notably, that he was a "giant nerd." Arthur smiled at this memory, but it was quickly overturned. No one called him a nerd anymore.

"Lost in thought?" asked Yao. Arthur sat up with a start. His closest friend always seemed to have trouble easing his way through the Brit's consciousness, often describing him as a scatterbrain because of it.

"Was it that obvious?" Arthur replied, even though he knew that to Yao it always was. Yao merely shrugged as he let out a small chuckle.

"I was just wondering why you were staring off into space, when you should be looking after Peter is all," he said, gesturing to the young boy running about in front of them. "I know I brought you outside the house to relax, but I didn't expect you to take it so seriously!" At Yao's smirk, Arthur playfully shoved him.

"Oh shut it you!" he shouted, although there were no bite to his words. "I was just…thinking." Yao looked at the other man quizzically.

"Mind if I ask what about?"

"Just the past, and life before all this," Arthur paused thoughtfully. He had known Yao since his first year at university. The two lived across from each other, and found that they had much in common; their loves of literature, teas, and horrible martial arts films. Subsequently, the two had formed a group with Emily, as well as Yao's current partner Ivan. The four were rarely separate, and were always out and about having fun, participating in interesting and, even at cases, peculiar activities (often the work of the tenacious Emily). However, after Emily's death, it seemed that all the remaining three wanted to do was sit at home. "Wasting away," Emily would call it, but Arthur was rather good at it.

"It's hard to remember the days before you would have to drag me to get me out of the house…" Arthur's tone was sentimental, but lonesome, longing for the great days of old. Upon Yao's face (ah, there it was again) shined the look of pity. To be honest, Arthur had probably asked for it speaking in such a tone. And Yao wore the look rather well…and often. Never in the many years that he had known Arthur, had he seen him act the way he had been for the past two years. He patted Arthur gingerly on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, life will pick up, it will. It just takes time," Yao said, his voice laced with sympathy.

"How long can I wait?" Arthur asked quietly to himself. But Yao had heard every word.

* * *

Arthur growled in exasperation, and slammed his bow roughly on his music stand. He would regret that action later, he knew it, but it was the only way to prevent him from chucking the damned stick out the window. _Saint Saëns' violin sonata_, Arthur thought spitefully. _He gave me Saint Saëns' violin sonata, is he out of his bleeding mind!? _The Brit rubbed his temples in frustration, rethinking all of his decisions he had made about his life thus far. Perhaps violin performance wasn't the best major for him after all?

The man was a great player, perhaps even more than great, bordering on wonderful even. But in the forefront of his mind, he always knew that no matter how wonderful of a player he was there would always be a prodigy or a player in their fifteenth year of study or an Asian that would play better than him. He sighed again, letting all his frustrations and doubts course through him like a raging river. Running his hands through his hair, Arthur got ready to pack up his belongings. What was the point, he asked himself. But before he could will himself to put away his instrument, a small knocking came from the door. He sighed for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

"What is it Yao," he phrased the question more like a statement, not making an effort to mask his annoyance. He had the room for another half hour, so it couldn't have been anyone else. Yao knew not to interfere with Arthur's practice time, at least not if he didn't want a bow to the head, so it was a surprise that he would come knocking. However, as Arthur opened the door, there stood the last person he would expect.

The young woman was…bubbly, as evidenced by her appearance at least. Everything, from her short bouncy hair in tight curls to her wide smile, just screamed friendly. Arthur wasn't sure if he was in the mood for friendly at the moment.

"Can I help you?" he asked, a bit terse. He regretted being so short with her, for it was hardly a way to treat a lady, but he swore if she were selling something he was going to slam the door in her face. The woman merely shrugged.

"Why'd you stop?" The question wasn't spiteful or mocking in the least, it sounded curious and even a bit disappointed. Arthur blinked at the question. He had never met this girl, why was she down here listening to him play in the first place? For once, the man was at a loss for words. "It sounded great, yanno. Well when you were playing instead of working those chords with your screaming," the girl said snorting. What an obnoxious laugh.

"You've obviously never heard the piece before. Everything was wrong, from the notes to the rhythm to the intonation to the—" But his rambling was cut off by the girl's slender hand.

"Honey, you lost me after notes." Arthur suppressed yet another sigh; he didn't have time for this. He was going to take his mind's offer to slam the door in her face, when he was interrupted once again. "Can I come in and listen?" The girl's smile was sincere and sweet…and completely contagious. Arthur had to use all of his resolve to refrain from smiling himself.

"W-well," he said, clearing his throat. "I suppose I could use an audience. It might increase concentration or something along those lines." The girl practically bolted in, nearly sending Arthur off his feet.

"Great! Play for me!" she exclaimed, with her infectious smile. This time, Arthur couldn't help but smile back. "Oh! And what's your name by the way?"

"Arthur," he chuckled slightly. "Might I ask the name of my eavesdropper?"

"I'm Emily!"

* * *

"Arthur!" Yao suddenly shouted, breaking Arthur out of his reverie with a jolt. "Ah, finally you dimwit! Peter ran off somewhere and I can't find him anywhere!" Arthur's blood ran cold at the statement. He had left Peter with three ground rules before they arrived at the beach: 1. Stay close. 2. Make sure we can see you. And 3. Don't go into the water alone. So far Peter had broken two of the three, and Arthur hoped to Christ he didn't break the third. Because if he did, Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to go after him.

"Split up, the two of us will take opposite sides of the beach. Perhaps he just went to get a snack?" He knew that suggestion was said mostly to calm his own nerves, however he prayed that it was the actual reason. Yao seemed unconvinced as well. "Meet back in fifteen?" Yao nodded, and they took their separate ways.

Arthur's head darted back and forth. Of course every young child had to be blond this day and age, so he was depending on the eyes (and the eyebrows, he thought somewhat bitterly) as a marker. Even with this in mind, the beach was far too crowded to search silently, and Arthur resorted to screaming out Peter's name. Strange and concerned looks aside, the man got no reaction from his shouts. After many minutes of shouting, a small shout of "Daddy" pierced his ears. He turned his head to the source of the noise and promptly gaped.

Rule number three. Broken.

Arthur Kirkland did not know how to swim. He had never learned, nor had he ever found it very necessary _to _learn. Well, until now that is, seeing his son floating helplessly on an inner tube in the open ocean. His voice laced with worry, he called out to his three year old son: "Peter, get out of the water!" As evidenced by the splashing and laughter of the boy, he couldn't hear him. Arthur clenched his fists. _Of course _he would have to go in the water, how he absolutely _despised _his life right now.

He stood at the edge of the shore for a good five minutes before taking his first few steps into the ocean. The water's temperature chilled him to the bone, but it was too late to return to dry land. "Peter, I said get out of the water!" The tide was strengthening, making it harder to wade against the current. But he had to keep going, he couldn't lose Peter too. The waves crashed onto his body, hitting his face at full force. Peter was now in plain sight, and Arthur reached to him, grabbing the inner tube and pushing it in the direction of the current. The inner tube practically flew at the quick flow of the waves. At the edge of the shore was Yao, having noticed the debacle. Yao motioned spastically for Arthur to get himself out too, shouting something that Arthur couldn't hear.

Arthur squinted his eyes, focused his ears, anything to interpret the message that Yao was trying to give him. _High_, he got that. High, high what? _High ti_—a huge crash at his back confirmed the message. High tide. The size of the waves pushed Arthur further under, and pulled him further away from the shore. He flailed helplessly against the water, but to no avail. Down, down, down below the surface, the ocean would soon claim him. Shortly, his thrashing began to grow weaker, black spots forming on the outsides of his vision. And the blackness only began to grow…and grow…and grow. Until he could see nothing in front of him, and the light ceased to be.

Arthur Kirkland. Widow. Single father. Broke. Dead.

* * *

A/N: First Hetalia fic! (Wow Gent you've been in this fandom for how many years and you've actually started doing things now?) But yeah, these footnotes are going to have bits of my commentary, some song links, and elements of explanation and such! So here we go! (Also I tried to put links to the songs on here, but this website is so nitpicky with them. So if you go to my tumblr (properbritishgent), the story should have links in them~.

1. The lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from the song England by The National. Every chapter should open with one of the songs that I painstakingly sought out for the Tremolo playlist.

2. Saint Saëns' violin sonata is something that I picked out from a long Google search that sounded the most difficult, particularly the third movement which is what Arthur has to play here. From what I've heard, most people use the sonata for graduate level auditions, which is why Arthur was a bit sore to get it as an undergrad!

3. I am not a violinist myself, and I am merely banking off what I know as of right now, some research, and a couple of violinist friends. So please if I get anything wrong, do not hesitate to correct me! I am however a music major and I do know the inner workings of practice scheduling, lessons, and rehearsals (at least for my university).

So yeah thanks for reading you guys! And I'll try to make updates…faaairly constant, it's just…college. X'D Until later guys!


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